Our Souls of Eternity
by Sun Blinded
Summary: In the year 914 A.D., two Parselmouths met and forever shaped the fate of the Wizarding World. Snakes, romance, power, betrayal, Hallows, Peverells, Founders, and the beginning of Voldemort... HP/TR. Pre-Reincarnation.
1. A Riverside Rendezvous

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, settings, objects, or schemes of plot crafted by the wonderful J. K. Rowling.

AN: This is a muse that's been in my mind for over a year now, but that I've since been refusing to write in order to focus on my original writings. However, this really wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to give it a whirl and get it off my chest. I hope you enjoy it.

The dedication for this first chapter has to go to The Fictionist, whose stories inspired me to actually get this one out there. Thanks so much.

I have most of where I'm going with this planned out in my head, so no, this is not a one-shot. Hopefully, it'll eventually tie into canon. I really wanted to explore the complex relationship between Harry and Voldemort, and this idea that part of Harry understanding Voldemort's motives and emotions so extraordinarily well is tied into the fact that they once knew each other in a past life. And thus this fic was born...

Chapter I: A River-side Rendezvous

_914 A.D. _

The burning light of the torches lit his way through the darkness. The hill was steep, and he could hear the wild screams behind, chasing him down ever nearer. The small black haired boy tried to still his panicking heart, to focus on placing one foot in front on the other. One wrong step now would mean death, and he shuddered away from the thought of those raging flames.

He hadn't meant to be different, hadn't _known_ that the strange things he could do were wrong. Recalling the frightened, distrusting look of his fellow clansman whenever he had caused something to happen in a way it shouldn't - whether it was filling an empty bucket with water or stopping a falling stone or even making a dying plant grow - he wished the greater powers had never cursed him this way. He didn't want to have to run, didn't want to be alone.

But he didn't have a choice.

The looming tree line towered above him when Hadrian heard his mother's screech. Its anger pierced him as it always had, but now it brought desperate tears to his eyes. His own mother...

"Freak! Tempter from the darkness! Face the light, _beast_!" Hate tarnished the voice that once sung him soft tunes. Hadrian could imagine the red flames reflecting in her eyes, knew she would be at the forefront of his persecutors. Shoving away the pain, he raced with all his strength for the trees. If only he could reach the woods, he would be safe; his small body would aid him where their larger frames would not.

The cries rang after him. "Serpent-speaker!" A male voice boomed menacingly, icy sharp in the cold winter air. The rest took up the chant, interspersing it with other such calls.

"Snake-tongue!"

"Die, son of the serpent! _Die_!"

The boy didn't understand why they despised him so. The snakes he spoke to had been kind, willing to help him in any which way. What was wrong with that? He wasn't evil, he _wasn't_. He knew that as certain as he knew the dawn would come, even in the darkness.

Roots tangled his feet as he waded through the thick shrubbery, jumping over the last few to a clear, full run. The moonlight cast strange shadows through the overhanging tree branches, creating false strangers that seemed to follow him as he tore through the night.

Hadrian could still hear the pursuing crowd behind him, but they were farther back now, held up as they traversed the grounds he knew so well. Most of the clan, too wary of the dangers of the wild, had usually stayed near the village, where numbers were plenty and so safety assured. But Hadrian had always been curious, and when he could slip away unnoticed, he'd retreated into the woods, an untamed home where he could think in its silence.

Another way he was different, he thought bitterly, before crushing that thought too. It was too painful, now, in the moment which sought to make him lose everything. He'd face it later, when he was safe and in the sun and he could remember that there was some happiness in the cruel world.

His feet continued to pound against the ground as the night bloomed and retreated, as the stars rose and fell, and the moon shone and then faded into nothingness as the dawn finally arose. Thoughts ceased to plague his mind, until he was empty and there was only the fact that he _was_ running to remind him that he was alive.

Eventually, though, the muscles in his legs gave out, and Hadrian tumbled to the welcoming ground, thankful for the chill of the grass as he pressed his flushed forehead against it. His stomach ached, the muscles locking down from over-exhaustion, and his chest felt as though as entire sea was bearing down on him. He wasn't sure which parts of that were only physical though.

When he felt recovered enough to move, Hadrian crawled to his feet, leaning against a young sapling for support. His entire body protested, but he violently fought to suppress the urge to just fall back to the ground and let it swallow him. He had to keep moving; if he stopped, he'd think, and that was as akin to dying as anything he knew.

And yet, try a he might, once the gates had been opened, they flooded, and the thoughts came with a merciless rush. He was as unable to hold them back as he could a stormy tide. The pretty green grove that surrounded him could occupy his eyes, but the real fight was on the insides.

Why?

He'd known the others didn't like the... _things_ he could do, the unnatural things that sprung from a talent that he shared alone. But he'd never understood their fear; it was his power, and he was good, so his power must be good. Why couldn't they understand something so simple? Why couldn't his mother?

The sense that his mother disliked him had haunted him all the days he could remember. It was something cold in her green eyes that chilled ever more so when Hadrian said something in which she seemed to see something else. It made him wonder if it had to do with the father he had never known, or it was solely with him that she found such disapproval.

But despite the fear, despite it all, he'd been tolerated. Shunned to some degree, perhaps, but still allowed to eat at mealtimes with the rest of the clan, still permitted to gather berries and greens in the open fields with the other children. But as soon as the snakes appeared, and his mother caught him speaking to one, conversing in a tongue she didn't understand, he'd been hated. There'd been no regard for past times, no thought to the memories accrued in the ten seasons of his life that he'd spent with them all... no hesitation when they cursed him as an evil temptation sent by the greater powers to ensnare them in corruption. None had argued when they cast him out to face the justice of fear and fire. Somehow, that hurt more than anything.

Hadrian sighed, evening his breath in order to slow his heart. He's always thought people were overstating when they mentioned the breaking of the heart. After all, surely that would cause immediate death? The heart couldn't really break. And yet now, he understood: it wasn't so much a break as an ache, one that rippled and ruptured but left no physical signs of the pain inflicted. It was all inside, Hadrian thought, and he wondered how people were supposed to deal with that along with all the outside pains too.

Still, the sun was shining and he could hear the joyful trill of birds in the distance. Most of all, he was alive. As long as that was true, he could survive anything. The world might be cold and cruel, but he was not, and he could make his own light, even if it was a small light that shone alone against a sea of darkness.

And so, under the faded stars and the grey clouds that had not yet covered the sky, he wandered on.

* * *

It was the rush of water that first attracted his attention. Over the past weeks since his flee from death, he'd managed to follow a small stream, keeping close to its path; where water lay, so did life. A scare a few night ago though, a howl in the dark that had him fearing of wolves, had chased him from the scene, and when Hadrian tried to find it again, he found himself sorely lost. The berries he'd scrounged up had sustained him so far, but he knew that without water soon, he wouldn't last long.

When he heard the gentle bubble of flowing water, Hadrian almost said a prayer, before he realised he didn't know any of the gods' names. He settled with sending a heartfelt thanks to the land.

In the few seconds before he broke out of the dark forest's enclosure, he imagined the cool, soothing way the water would feel as it passed down his parched throat. His fingers clenched with the desire to simply _feel_ the glorious liquid.

The radiant glow of the sun blinded him for a moment, white obscuring his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the dizzying sensation. When the colours filtered back in, confusion washed over Hadrian. He froze.

A body, only marginally larger than his own from what he could see, floated down-face in the river. It wasn't moving, and he wondered for a terrifying moment whether it was dead.

He glanced at the water, wanting it _so_ much... and hadn't he already waited for it? Surely it wasn't his fault if he wanted a drink, if this person was just there dying...

But he couldn't, something inside him told him it was wrong, that he needed to help, needed to do something...

And, for a reason he couldn't quite explain, Hadrian felt a strange connection drawing him to the body, something intangible and powerful. What this his power again? He didn't know the limits and heights of it, after all, so perhaps that was it. His throat burning in plaintive protest, he dived towards the body, the water immediately soaking through his rough-hewn clothes.

It was harder than expected to drag it up to the bank. The added water made it even heavier, weighing down the strips of fur the body had weaved around its neck. Breathing heavily, Hadrian tugged it onwards, water splashing into his eyes and filling up his ears. How had he ever thought this was glorious? He laughed inside at the irony.

Reaching the muddy bank, he scrambled up on it, gripping the body by the sodden clothes on its back. With a strong pull, he managed to get the body land-side, before he collapsed next to it.

Hadrian glanced over, and spiked by curiosity, he rolled the body over.

It was a boy around his own age, as he'd suspected, with handsome features and neat black hair. His eyes narrowed of the fur strips, which, he now realised, looked awfully tight... he pulled them off, having to slip them over the boy's head once he'd loosened them a bit, since they were far too knotted to unravel completely.

The skin around the boy's neck was red, rubbed raw by the strips' chokehold. And Hadrian felt a wash of sympathy for the boy, whom must have been driven off like he was, except he had escaped and this boy had not, not really.

With gentle care, Hadrian smoothed out the skin with his fingers, trying to stimulate the blood flow. He'd never met someone who had nearly drowned (though he'd heard awful tales from his mother of what would happen to him if he did) and he felt utterly consumed by helplessness as he tried to think of ways to save the boy who suddenly meant something to him.

Leaning over the boy, he began to push down hard on his chest, repeating the motion more frequently as nothing appeared to happen. He gave a forceful, frustrated push, and water trickled out of the boy's mouth and with a sudden gasp, the boy began to breathe. It was laboured and harsh, but even. The boy's eyes remained closed, and Hadrian supposed the boy was merely asleep now, instead of dying.

He lay down himself for a moment, catching his own breath, before heaving himself up with a sigh. The boy was still cold from the water and the chill the air had acquired, and Hadrian wasn't much better in his own sodden clothing. He set out towards the trees, hoping to find some good sticks and stones to start a fire.

* * *

The sun was still out when the boy awoke. Hadrian gazed at him from across the fire, the flames framing the boy in flickering shades of orange and red.

The boy's eyes calmly took in his surroundings, his face impassive as he turned his intense gaze to his rescuer. Hadrian saw that the boy's eyes were a solid grey, intriguing in their darkness.

"Who are you?" The boy's voice was quiet but demanding.

"My name is Hadrian," He replied. "And I just saved your life."

The boy frowned. "I wasn't going to die."

Hadrian stared. "Yes, you were," He said firmly. He wasn't asking for thanks or rewards, but he wasn't going to let the boy shove it in his face either.

The boy's face remained irritated. "I _can't_ die, you fool. I have powers that protect me from such weak endings."

"Being powerful doesn't mean you can't die," Hadrian countered.

The boy turned away, hissing in frustration, and to his surprise, Hadrian realised he understood what the boy was saying.

"_Fool, doesn't understand what I am. I, die? Impossible_.

Hadrian scowled. "_I'm not a fool, which by the way, doesn't mean much coming from a person who _did_ just almost get themselves killed_."

The boy whipped around suddenly to face him, mouth parted and eyes round with shock.

An awkward silence pervaded as the two dark-haired boys stared at each other.

"You speak?" The boy asked, seemingly shaken.

"Yes," Hadrian responded. "I mean, if you're talking about being able to talk to snakes, then, yes, I do."

The boy eyed Hadrian in awe. "I didn't know anyone else could, I didn't..." The boy whispered.

"Nor did I," Hadrian said softly. The boy's gaze was uncomfortably steadfast, seeming to drink Hadrian in as though he couldn't believe he was real. Hadrian was feeling much the same.

"Thomason," The boy said eventually.

"What?"

"My name."

"Oh..."

"And you are Hadrian-"

"Harry," Hadrian interrupted. The boy stared in confusion.

"You said-" Thomason started.

"I go by Harry. I mean, that's what I call myself, at least."

The boy nodded slowly, his grey eyes still direct.

"You may call me Tom," He said quietly.

"Tom," Harry repeated, savouring the word. He had a feeling it would be an important one.

"Can you do other things?" Tom asked, his brows drawn together.

Harry hesitated. "Er... what kind of things?" He thought he knew what Tom was after, but he wanted to be sure. He didn't want to scare him off now that he had found him.

"You know what I mean," Tom replied quickly, his tone exasperated. Harry shook off the sudden mood change. Maybe people who almost died were like that for a time afterwards.

"Things that shouldn't be possible," Tom continued, "Yet we _can_ do. Magical things, Harry."

"Yes," Harry whispered, a sense of wonder overcoming him. _Magic_. So that was his power's name. And Tom could do it too, and the thought filled him with joy because it meant he wasn't alone, that he didn't have to be anymore because he had _Tom. _

Tom had a strange look in his eyes, but Harry thought he looked happy. There was a depth to his gaze, though, that made Harry shiver, not in fear of Tom himself, but perhaps in fear that he _knew_, somehow, that Tom could see right into his soul.

They let the silence wash over them for a while, comfortable as they warmed themselves from the fire's flames as the cool temperature dropped further. Harry thought briefly of going to find some food, or maybe a dead animal so he could steal its coat for warmth, but he didn't want to leave Tom, especially since Harry thought he must still be recovering from nearly drowning. The idea that he might go out and return to a dead Tom was enough to keep him seated even when he felt his fingers might actually freeze off.

"How did you come to be here?" Tom's voice broke Harry out of his dark imaginings.

Harry bit his bottom lip.

"I... ran away."

Tom's only reply was a raised eyebrow.

"They didn't like that I could speak to snakes. They thought it meant I was an omen of evil," Harry replied tonelessly, staring straight ahead into the darkness. He felt the heat of Tom's gaze on his cheek.

A moment passed. "I see," said Tom quietly, and when he didn't press for more, a rush of gratitude swept through Harry.

"And you?" said Harry, trying to sound off-hand.

Darkness tainted Tom's eyes and his features blanked, his entire aura becoming closed off. For a second, he seemed to merge with the shadows. Harry shivered suddenly but didn't glance away.

"My fellows, like yours, Harry, were not the most... accepting humans the world has ever provided," Tom responded calmly, but under the facade, Harry saw that Tom was still tense, the muscles of his neck taut and his fists clenched.

Instinctively, without any thought to stop or judge his actions, Harry reached out and took one of Tom's hands in his own. The moment he did, he regretted it. The sudden skin contact sent sparks tingling through Harry's palms, and he would have released the hand immediately if he weren't so stilled by Tom's expression.

If he'd thought Tom's stare intense before now, he now knew he had been wrong. The raw indefinable emotion in his eyes stopped Harry's breath, and he would have been afraid but for the sudden softness of Tom's features.

The whole of eternity existed in a moment, where the cold, the trees, the fire, the water, none of anything existed but the two of them.

Tom's fingers tentatively curled around his own, and Harry grasped them firmly.

"They can hate us if they want to," Harry said, feeling bold, "But we'll have each other, and they can never stop us together."

"No," Tom murmured, smiling. "They won't."

They slept that night under the stars, glowing above them as if to reveal the whole fate of the universe in the mere span of a night, in the mere span of a life. Before he surrendered to the enclosing relief of slumber, Harry wondered if he and Tom's fates were drawn out above them, if destiny had a plan already written for them - and it was a _them_, of course, for surely if either one of them did have a preordained destiny, it would include the other.

Because maybe he didn't know Tom well yet, but he knew that something stronger than chance had bound them together.

Harry resigned that he would likely never know the path in store for him, but at least he could be sure that Tom was on the same path, and if that was true, they could survive anything. Even certain death, as Tom proclaimed, Harry thought with a small smile.

And at least there would be one more light added to his own that could blaze with glory against the dark sea of eternity.

* * *

Awkwardness rose with the sun. In the natural light, which illuminated all details and alleviated all shadows, the tensions the darkness hid returned full force. Somehow, night had softened the unknowns and closed the distances. The bright streaks of sunshine awoke the reality that, under the dark moon, had been allowed to slumber.

Harry stared up at the blue sky, for once free of grey clouds. He remained still as he just listened to the sound of his even breathing, the soft exhales barely heard over the sounds of the woodland's wildlife. Concentrating on his hearing, he detected the clicking of grasshoppers surrounding him, the call of birds somewhere to the south, the pad of four-footed animals further down the river…

There was no sound next to him.

Turning over, Harry caught his eyes with Tom's, the colour seeming lighter in the day. They stared at each other silently for a moment.

"Hello," Harry breathed.

Tom's features remained blank, before he rolled onto his back and sat up. His body froze like ice as he gazed out at the river at their feet. Harry sat up too, frowning down at his lap. The air coalesced with intangible tension, the kind that felt as if it would actually invade the chest and crush it with its overpowering pressure.

Harry glanced aside, then with a pull of defiance, straightened his back and shifted back towards Tom

"Where are we going then?"

The question was inane, practical but inane, yet it was all Harry could think of to break the terrible silence.

"What?" Tom's eyes gleamed with irritation, his cold voice sharp. Harry inwardly recoiled, but didn't flinch. He tried to clear his own voice of emotion.

"Where from here?" He said slowly. "We can't just stay here. People will find us soon."

Tom frowned, but his lips were unmoving.

"We need—"

"Let me think," Tom interrupted harshly. Harry bit his lip, cowed. Shame washed through him. He closed his eyes. Was Tom still reacting to his almost death? Harry thought not, his stomach sinking.

"We'll find others," Tom stated decisively.

"What?" Harry said in surprise, "No—"

"As you say," Tom continued, his tone mocking, "We need food. Food tends to be where there are people."

Anger soared through Harry's veins. "_Death_ tends to be where there are people."

"Life or death, Harry, which is your choice?" Tom snapped, before he froze, staring widely at Harry. The familiarity of Harry's spoken name hung between them.

Tom sighed, running a hand over his face. "If we sat here, we'll die, either from starvation or from other dangers. If we go, we have a chance at life. And," He turned to Harry, his eyes intense, "I won't die, Harry, I won't."

"I'm the reason you're not dead," Harry returned somberly, "Don't I get a say for that?"

"What would you have us do, then?"

"Tom…"

"Say it, Harry."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I don't know," He murmured.

"Then as you don't have a ready plan, I suggest we go with mine," said Tom, rising to his feet. To Harry's shock, he lent down a hand to help Harry up. Harry stared incredulously.

"I don't understand you," He said in disbelief.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "We have a great deal of time to remedy that."

Pausing for a moment, Tom's eyes turned distant. Suddenly, he released a laugh, which sounded strange, as though un-used.

"What?" Harry asked warily.

A small smile twisted Tom's lips.

"Here we are, the morning after we first feet," Tom's grey eyes glanced down to Harry's, glittering with amusement, "And already we are fighting."

"We wouldn't be if you weren't so temperamental," Harry bit out.

"Temperamental?"

"Well, more like rude…"

"Ah, assaulting my manners, Harry? That _is_ rude…" Tom's voice was light with laughter.

"Stop it," Harry said indignantly, scowling up at the other boy. Feeling strangely vulnerable on the ground, he quickly scrambled to his feet. Tom reached out a hand to catch Harry's neck as he did.

The world disappeared. Time itself stopped as space collapsed in on itself. Power sang through the air, coursing through their bodies until the fingers clasped against Harry's neck burned with warmth.

Harry flinched, uneasy, and the universe resumed its normal state. Bewilderment dominated Tom's face.

Pulling Tom's hand away, Harry treaded a few paces toward the river. Its rhythmic movement echoed loudly in the quiet, but Harry found it deeply soothing.

"I don't think you should touch me," He said determinedly. Tom's face contorted with displeasure.

"If you wish."

"I do."

"Then I shall not touch you again."

Tom paused, and then spoke, hesitant. "I meant no harm…"

"I know," Harry replied, finding he couldn't quite look Tom in the eye. "So…where do we find these others?"

"I say north," said Tom, sounding detached.

Harry glanced up at the sky, where the last of the fading stars had vanished.

"And how do we tell north? It's not night."

Tom gave Harry a fondly exasperated look. With a sigh, he gestured towards the river.

"Water flows south, Harry. If we follow the river long enough, it will eventually turn, and when it does, we shall know our direction."

"But that'll take 'till dusk,' Harry argued. After yesterday's arduous flight, he possessed no desire to trek a winding – and possibly pointless – journey. At least, he thought, glancing at the river, they wouldn't want for water this time.

Tom didn't respond, instead simply turning and walking down alongside the riverbanks. Frustration wound its way through Harry, and he parted his mouth to speak, before sighing. It would be no use; Tom was determined and Harry sensed his new friend was not one to be swayed lightly. Resigned, he followed Tom as the river's rippling water lapped on besides them.

As Harry predicted, it was nearing nightfall when the river finally turned downwind. They set up a small fire, which Tom said would keep away the worst of the beasts that lurked in the twilight hour. Not that Harry really concerned himself with what Tom said at the moment; his feet hurt from the continuous walking, his stomach rumbled plaintively in hunger, and his skin was chilled from the cold despite the fire. His latent emotions from this morning had not abated, and as time went on, Harry found himself increasingly angry at Tom's blatant disregard for Harry's words. _And I was right_, Harry thought bitterly, wrapping his swaddled woolen coat tighter.

Yet despite Harry's furious silence and obvious scowl, Tom carelessly tumbled down next to him, their bodies touching. Warmth radiated from him, and Harry reluctantly edged closer, the temptation of escape from the winter weather too much to resist. Huddled together, the night passed into full darkness, the flickering flames of the fire snapping and hissing before finally dying out.

The next day was much the same. Harry and Tom walked in silence, though more from tiredness than from anger. This night had served as their friend; when the morning calls of nature awoke the two, the frustrations of the past day had slunk away, leaving a quiet understanding in its wake.

The more they walked the wider and fiercer the river became, the small trickles replaced by the loud rush of fast flowing water and the random crashes as it beat against the now present rocks. When Harry's muscles grew too tired, Tom let them rest without argument. They lounged on the grassy, sloping banks, eating foraged berries as the blue sky expanded out above them.

Tom quietly told Harry that they could move on away from the river now, that small villages should be close by once they retreated from the thick forests. Harry saw the wisdom in Tom words, but nonetheless, the prospect of leaving the constant river behind daunted him; the memory of a raw throat parched of water lingered in the back of his mind.

Still, when they did reach open fields, joy sparked in Harry's heart at the utter freedom of the plain, all vibrant with life. He grinned at Tom, who returned it hesitantly, staring at Harry in puzzlement. Harry didn't care though and simply relished in his existence; the fresh air in his lungs, the sweet scent from the meadow flowers that assaulted his senses, and the calm companionship his life had so much lacked.

The sun gleamed high in the sky when Tom and Harry first sighted the rural town nestled between the hills. A simple stone wall surrounded the dwellings, rising and falling with the land. Smoke swirled out from around the thatched-roof huts, coiling in the air above like tangled serpents.

Harry glanced over at Tom, whose face was once again blank.

"Do you think they'll give us food?"

"No," Tom said immediately.

Harry frowned at him.

"Then what was the point of all this? We should have stayed by the river, then. At least we had berries."

Tom acted as though Harry hadn't spoken. "They won't give it; we will take it."

"Tom—"

Tom strode off down the hill, rigid determination obvious in his every movement.

"We can't just steal from them!" Harry shouted after him.

"It won't be stealing if they're dead," Tom retorted loudly.

Harry stared at Tom, frightened. Coldness froze his heart, his rushing blood seemingly replaced by fragmented icicles.

"You can't," He breathed out, trembling.

"_We_ can," Tom replied calmly. "We will."

"I won't."

"Harry," Anger sharpened Tom's voice. "We have no choice—"

"There's always a choice!" Harry called out desperately. "Please, Tom, can't we just sneak the food out? They don't need to die, not just for us."

"There's less danger this way. Isn't that what you wanted?" Tom's tone mocked him.

Harry set his jaw. "You couldn't kill them, not even if you tried."

Tom's expressionless façade wavered. "Of course I could, don't be a fool."

"No, Tom," Harry said softly, "You couldn't."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'd stop you."

Silence descended over the hills, the screech of the drifting wing the only sound. Harry's throat caught at Tom's betrayed look. He quickly ran down the hill to meet him, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, Tom," Harry pleaded.

Tom's eyes slid carefully over Harry's features. Their eyes locked briefly, but then Tom turned his head aside.

"How do you want to do this, then?" He sighed.

Harry's thoughts raced into overdrive, his relief palpable as he shifted to view the town once more. The walls would be easy to scale, but they remained in pure sight. Still, less people would be watching now than in the night hours, when guards routinely stood watches over long stretches. Harry hoped the people would merely mistake him and Tom as mischievous boys.

From there, their target would have to be located in the central reaches of the town; if detected, the ensuing alarm would be further from the day guards' ears. Tom and Harry would just need to slip into the crowd.

"Follow me," Harry murmured, heading towards the town.

"What?"

"Just trust me."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Fine."

They skirted around the gates when they were close enough to be seen. As Harry predicted, the walls were largely unguarded, allowing them to climb the wall using the stones natural footholds. Tom raised his eyebrows at Harry when they reached the top edge.

"Now what?" He asked skeptically as they hung there.

"Blend in," Harry hissed lowly.

He vaulted up onto the flat top, which was wide enough for two of Harry's size. Breathing fast in anxiety, he turned to reach out a hand to Tom, but found the other boy already kneeling beside him.

"We head to the centre?" Tom guessed, his grey eyes steadily evaluating the inner dwellings spread out below.

Harry nodded once, slipping down the wall's other side hastily. They would have only minutes; sparse the guards might be, but blind they were not. In plain sight as they were, Harry and Tom ran the high possibility of being spotted at any moment.

Going down was much faster than going up, Harry found. Soon enough, he and Tom reached the ground, slick under their feet as the mud moistened. The wall had made it weak, the weight breaking up the earth into small fragments that eventually congealed together. Worriedly, Harry glanced at his hide boots and then at his clear footprints imprinted in the mud.

"We need to move fast. Now," He muttered to Tom under his breath.

"I thought that was obvious," Tom replied lowly.

Harry took Tom by the elbow, guiding him through the narrow alleys between the houses, all clumped together as they were, round and short next to square and tall. Some were obviously of an older style, with animal pelts serving as doors, whilst others had their entranceways blocked by thick wooden slabs with iron handles. They stayed close to the buildings, ducking by every time someone passed by an alley mouth; the less people who saw their faces, the better. _Particularly his_, Harry thought, glancing back of Tom's young but handsome face.

Music reverberated from the town's centre, the intricacies muffled by the hum of voices that sought to drown out it and each other. Shouts of anger and joy clashed with the ever-present boom of a man selling his wares and the loud laughter of children. _A market_, Harry thought, and pondered what treasures there were to be bought. But not for him and Tom… they were here for food, nothing else, Harry reminded himself.

Still, as they moved into the main area and Harry caught sight of the musicians, all decked in green with a white tree sigil, he wondered briefly what it would be like to dance. Though he quickly dismissed the notion, for some reason he felt the oddest sense of embarrassment. Without catching Tom's eye, he casually pulled him towards the house Harry designated as their target.

Sidling around so they remained hidden from view to those in the market, they paused with their backs pressed to the house's back wall. Tom turned his head towards Harry's.

"What now?"

Harry slowed his breathing. "I go in… and you wait here."

Frowning, Tom said, "You expect me to just stand here whilst you go in alone?"

"I expect you to trust me to know what I'm doing."

"And have you ever stolen anything before?"

"No," Harry admitted, "But I'd chance a guess that neither have you."

Tom sighed in irritation.

"Be quick about it, Harry, no dallying. I mean it; it's both our heads if we get caught."

"I know," Harry said quietly.

Rolling his eyes up towards the sky, Tom offered a sound of disgust. "We should have just killed them."

Harry left without a word, creeping around to the doorway, which had been left the slightest part ajar. Pausing to listen to any sounds that might be coming from inside the house, Harry took the moment to ready himself. Stealing from the innocent went against every grain of his being, but it was better than Tom's alternative of murder. This way, Harry was only thieving the belongings that sustained their lives rather than taking their actual lives.

When no hint of sound was forthcoming, Harry stealthily slipped inside, making sure to leave the door just as open as he had found it, in case the owners returned early. The furnishings were modest, common wood carved simply enough to meet the owner's needs. Woven rugs and drapes decorated the floors and walls, they too bearing the white tree sigil against a backdrop of forest green. Harry supposed it was the town's symbol. His lips tightened, his chest aching guiltily when he sighted a child-size rocking horse. He moved on quickly.

Carefully, he headed towards a large wicker basket, opening the lid, which revealed the heaps of apples and pears and roots tumbled inside. Grabbing the woolen-sewn bag that hung from a nail near the door, Harry piled as much as he could inside, largely bypassing most of the vegetables except the carrots and lettuces. Thinking of Tom's expression if he saw only greens in the bag, Harry searched the house for meat.

The main entrance room took up most of the space in the house, but a small corridor led to two other rooms. Following, Harry found what was obviously a bedroom, complete with a large sleeping rack covered in sheepskin and two immense boxes, one plain brown and the other gilt laced with ornate flowers and shining gems that surrounded a white-shadowed dancing maiden under a weeping tree. Harry eyed it dubiously, but seeing nothing else of interest, closed the door and went to examine the other room, which he found, to his delight, to be a storeroom.

The smell of raw, salted meat took him off guard for a moment, bringing back memories of the feasts that would herald the return of the hunters in his old tribe. Even for him, those times were glorious. But that path was closed to him now, and he had to forget the past and find his own way. Shaking away the recollections, which remained seeped with pain and regret, Harry walked down the wooden-structured aisles, taking beef, pork, lamb, and fish at random, no longer entirely concentrated on his task.

He continued until the bag was filled to burst, and when he looked down at the gathered food, a deeper sense of guilt raced through him. There was enough food there to feed this family for weeks, and he was taking it all in one fell swoop. It was only the thought of Tom standing outside waiting for him that allowed Harry the strength to find his way back out of the house.

Tension dominated Tom's face when Harry met up with him at the back wall. Tom pushed off it when he saw Harry.

"What took you so long? Never mind, we've got to get moving. It's almost close to sundown and they'll be closing the gates."

"The gates? Why do the gates matter?"

"Because we walking out of here through them," Tom said, "Or do you imagine you can climb unnoticed with that sack on your back?"

Harry's brows drew together worriedly. "Do you think they'll let us out?"

"We'll see," said Tom shortly.

Glancing up at the sky as they walked – this time, Tom leading him – Harry saw the truth of Tom's words; the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon, the sky's blue colour transforming into a collage of red and orange hues. The sounds of the market had dimmed now, and with regret, Harry realised the musicians had long ceased their playing.

The wall guards hardly gave a care when the two dark-haired boys passed under the main southern gate. Instead, they lit numerous fires along the top of the wall, their faces noticeably lined with concern, whilst their movements bespoke clear anxiety.

Tom eyed them curiously as they walked under the archway. "That's odd."

"What do think's going on?" Harry frowned.

"Nothing that we're going to be around long enough to see," Tom remarked, taking Harry's hand to urge him faster along. Tingles started to ripple in Harry's palm, but he determinedly ignored it.

By the time the town lingered far back in the distance, night truly had fallen, the stars aglow as everything else faded to black. The wind picked up again, howling and moaning as the temperature continued to drop.

Tom used his coat to shield the fire, leaving them both to shiver under Harry's, which he draped over the back of their bodies, their front's facing the open fire. They pecked listlessly at some apples, too tired to properly eat and too cold to consider moving. Near the fire-pit laid the wrapped up bundle of stolen goods. Other than their clothes, the items within were only possessions that Tom and Harry owned in the world.

When the wind finally died down enough to speak, Harry asked a question that had circled in his mind since he'd first found Tom.

"Tom? Do you… who tried to kill you?"

The body next to him froze, and Harry guessed Tom's expression had returned to its blank state, as it always seemed to do when Tom decided his emotions were too valuable or private to share. Bundled up tightly as they were, Harry didn't have enough leeway to move, yet alone twist enough to examine Tom's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to either.

"Does it matter?" Tom finally spoke, his voice as cold as the wind.

"What if they come after us?" This hadn't been Harry's initial thought, but it seemed a good enough excuse to justify his question on the grounds of something other than pure curiosity and a strange sensation of protectiveness.

"They won't."

"How can you be sure? They never saw your dead body."

"I'm sure, Harry," Tom spoke through gritted teeth.

"Who were they?"

"Enough."

"But, who—"

"Harry," Tom warned.

The smaller dark-haired boy sighed. "Why can't I know?"

"Because there's no point… because it doesn't concern you."

"Don't you trust me?" Hurt tinged Harry's voice.

Tom's hair shifted against Harry's cheekbones as he turned his head slightly in the other direction.

"I trust you with your life, just not with mine."

There was nothing to say to that, so Harry buried his torn feelings and laid his cheek softly on Tom's shoulder, closing his eyes and letting everything but Tom's warmth fade into the abyss. Tom's body remained tense for another few minutes, before he suddenly relaxed, tightening the wrapping around them and drawing their bodies closer. With a sad sigh, Tom turned and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's head.

Opening his green eyes to slits, Harry gazed out at the constantly flickering flames, wondering if the fire had eyes to see, and if it did, what reflection he and Tom made.


	2. The Cave

AN: Thank you to everyone who put this on their favourites and/or alerts, and thanks especially to those who reviewed. I appreciate every little one I get.

This chapter goes especially to my amazing anonymous reviewer. Thank you for your kind words and advice. This one's for you.

And since I can't reply to you the normal way, PineTown, the answer to your question is yes. You'll find out a bit more about Tom's motives and thoughts in Chapter V, since that one is from his point of view.

On a historical note, the Druids mentioned in this chapter were priest/priestess-like figures in Celtic tribes (which populated the areas of what are now France, Ireland, England, Wales, and Scotland). They were thought to have special magic powers and were highly revered, since their people believed they could commune with their gods.

And I really do apologise for all the italics.

Read, enjoy, review…

Chapter II: The Cave

"Do you think it will flood?"

Harry's voice echoed loudly throughout the oppressive forest, the looming trees above obscuring the sky so that it seemed the world ended with the tops of the twining branches. Not that there was anything else to see; for days Tom and Harry traversed the unforgiving land, yet even now they were still no closer to finding the forest's end. Harry was started to regret letting Tom lead them into here. He sighed, the sound muffled by the constant pattering of raindrops against the newly-formed mini lakes.

"Whether it does or not is irrelevant," Tom called out from a few paces ahead of him.

"Actually, it is. What do we do if it does?"

Tom stopped to face him. "If it does…well, you know how to climb."

Harry stared at him incredulously. A startled laugh burst out of his lips, and before he could stop it, the absurdity of the moment caused his laughter to ring out between the trees. Harry steadied himself against one of them, his eyes tearing as his abdomen ached. Hearing Tom's light chuckle, Harry gave him a mock glare.

"And what will you do, Tom? I hope you can swim, because you're not sharing my tree," He teased sternly.

"I think I'll manage, Harry. There is more than one tree in this forest, after all."

"Yes," Harry continued airily, "But who'll keep you warm?"

Tom smirked. "It pleases me so that you realise your true use to me."

Harry dropped the act, glaring. He opened his mouth to argue, before he saw the humour that glittered playfully in Tom's grey eyes.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, Harry rearranged his features, speaking imperiously, "I agree. Keeping the company of arrogant, moody youths gives my life meaning."

Laughing again at Tom's expression, Harry didn't see the shove coming. He gasped as his back hit the tree with force, his green eyes widening up at Tom. The other boy was pressed so close to him their bodies almost touched, both of them breathing the same air. Harry noted absently that Tom had grown in the past weeks since he'd met him.

They stood there, panting quietly, speaking not a word as they both enjoyed the brief closeness. This was different than at night, when a certain contact was required to keep them warm enough to survive. This was voluntary, unnecessary, and Harry secretly relished in the companionship. He'd experienced so little touch in his life – after his mother had turned cold to him and spurned his existence, the rest of the tribe following in her path – that the simple pleasures that Tom's presence afforded him caused a wave of gratitude to fill his chest.

Eventually, Tom glanced up at Harry, meeting his eyes. "You really wouldn't share with me?"

The words were soft, but filled with meaning.

Harry stared at him resolutely. "I think we both know I'd drag you up after me, whether you wanted me to or not," He replied gently.

Tom started to respond, before tensing suddenly, twisting his head around frantically.

"Tom?" Fear blossomed in Harry's heart, but he readied himself for a fight, prepared to protect his and Tom's lives if he must.

"Quiet," Tom whispered, calmer now but still flicking his eyes to different spots around them. "Look."

Stiffening his shoulders, Harry discreetly followed Tom's line of sight. His breath caught in his throat.

Luminescent eyes shined out at them from all directions, fixed directly on him and Tom. Slit as they were, they gleamed eerily from their bodies' places in the undergrowth.

Tom took a step back from Harry, and suddenly the air was filled with menacing hisses.

"_Weak, young ones…"_

"…_easy… take out the larger one…"_

"_I want the small youngling…"_

Tom's eyes flashed, his body straightening up quickly. Eying him, Harry realised that Tom too was ready for a fight.

"_I don't think so_," Tom directed at the snakes, his tone low and dangerous.

The effect was immediate; the snakes recoiled, the hisses shifting to surprise. Strangely, Harry thought they sounded almost _awed_.

"_Speaker_," One of the snakes addressed Tom, slithering forward out from her bush, "_We are your humble servants_."

Tom gazed at her curiously, anger forgotten. He tilted his head, eyes focused in interest. Harry frowned, glancing at the snake suspiciously.

"'_Speaker'_?" Tom queried quietly.

"_Speaker of our tongue_," Another snake replied, this one male. Harry wasn't quite sure how he knew that; even when he focused, the voices themselves sounded genderless. Nevertheless, an unknown instinct informed him of these facts with a certainty he couldn't deny.

"_What tongue_?" He demanded, seeing Tom turn his head towards him in his periphery vision. Harry steadily stared down at the male snake's glassy green eyes.

Resumed hisses of shock resounded around the forest, more snakes sliding out into the open, finally braving the rain to see the two boys. Harry shifted uneasily as the eyes now focused on him.

"_Another Speaker?"_

"_Two Speakers… a pair…"_

"_How? Impossible…"_

"_A sign…great things coming._"

Tom and Harry caught eyes, an unspoken message passing between them. Nodding, Harry let Tom take the lead.

"_Tell us what it means to be a Speaker_," Tom ordered, his voice filled with authority.

"_Tell you, we cannot. You already are Speakers, ones who speak the tongue of the serpents_," The first female snake said, "_Born are Speakers, not made._"

"_Are there many of us?_" Tom frowned.

"_Rare are your kind, Speaker. Only a few more have I heard of_," The male snake stated calmly. His voice was smooth and deep, ringing with sincerity. Harry decided he liked him.

"_And all wizards and witches, yes, Speaker_," A younger snake spoke, feminine voice high, her subdued golden-hued scales glittering with raindrops.

Tom glanced up from where he had been examining the ground, face hard.

"_Wizards and witches_?"

Confused hisses resonated through the air, reminded Harry uncomfortably of how many snakes currently surrounded them.

"_Beings gifted in the magical arts, Speaker. Humans_," The older female replied. "_You must also be magical, for you to be a Speaker_."

Exchanging a look, Harry shrugged slightly at Tom; he had never heard of these people either. As far as he knew, Tom was the only other person like him that he'd ever found.

"_And these wizards and witches are Speakers also_?" Tom returned to the conversation, face lined with some undefinable emotion. Harry watched on in concern, shifting from Tom to the snakes and back again.

"_Not always_," The male responded, his hisses slow, "_All Speakers are magical, but not all those who are magical are Speakers_."

Tom nodded once, and then turned to Harry, "What do you think?"

Harry twisted his face. "I don't think they're lying, if that's what you mean. Tom, I don't think they _can_. Not to us, at least."

"I agree," Tom said, voice serious, "But what about the rest? Wizards and witches?"

"I can't believe there could be so many without anyone noticing."

"Maybe that's the point: no one notices because they're already in plain sight."

Harry stared at Tom, confused. "What?"

"Druids," Tom's voice sounded exasperated. "They're renowned for magical feats."

"The only problem with that, Tom, is that there are hardly any Druids left. They started dying out when the One God came to the island with the people from the south."

"Or maybe they went into hiding," Tom said darkly.

"Hiding?" Harry replied, tone full of disbelief.

"Yes, forced to live in secret due to the envies of the normal non-magical people."

"I think it would be more fear than envy."

"The point is, Harry," Tom said curtly, "Other people out there – these wizards and witches – possess powers like ours."

"They can't speak to snakes, though, apparently," Harry argued. Tom's sense of urgency caused a kernel of worry within him to swell.

"That's not the point!" Tom's shout startled the snakes, and Harry saw a few of them withdraw partially; none of them, however, left.

Tom was breathing heavily, his eyes chaotic with emotion. "They could kill us! What use are our powers if they have them as well, and can use them against us?"

"Tom," Harry's voice was quiet as he reached for him. Tom quickly twisted around, controlling the embrace as he held Harry tightly to him.

"I won't let you die," Tom whispered lowly in Harry's ear. "I won't let either of us die. I can't."

Harry breathed in Tom's scent. "I know," He murmured reassuringly.

It was a few moments before they separated, but when they did, Harry could tell that Tom was calmer, more composed. His face shifted into its usual blank state, turning to address the gathered snakes, which were patiently waiting for one of their 'Speakers' to respond.

"_How do we willingly perform this magic_?"

"_Willingly_?" The older female sounded puzzled.

"_We have only done such feats by accident_," Tom's voice was firm, but Harry could tell by the line of his brows that this bothered Tom more than he could say.

"_Humans use certain words now_," The male replied, "_But the true force of magic is will_."

"_Will_?" Tom repeated, sounding dubious.

"_What you truly will into being, the magic so creates_."

Tom nodded distantly, absorbed in this new line of thought. He turned and walked a few paces away, the snakes parting for him as he did so.

Harry focused on the snakes.

"_Do you have names_?"

The male snake seemed to nod. "_Yes, small Speaker. I am called Grey Scales_."

The name caused Harry to look at the other parts of the snake; so captivated by its eyes, he hadn't really noticed the rest. He _did_ have grey scales, but they were jagged, some of them torn right off. White scar lines rippled down his sides as he moved.

Frowning, Harry turned to the older female snake. "_And you_?"

"_I am Yellow Eyes_."

"_And I am Sun Scales, Speaker_," The younger female chimed in, enthusiasm coating her hisses. Harry reluctantly let slip a small smile, though he watched warily as the other female, Yellow Eyes, slithered over to where Tom was still standing, lost in his own musings.

"_What will you have of us, Speaker_?" Her tone bespoke deep reverence.

Tom glanced down at her, brows tensed in concentration.

"_Take us to your home_," He ordered quietly, "_I will not stand in this rain any longer_."

Harry squinted up at the sky, but he could still only see the tall branches that twisted above them. Sighing, he moved to Tom's side.

"Maybe we should ask them if they know the way out of here."

Tom's eyes shifted. "We'll stay here for the night."

"Tom—"

"Unless you do want to spend it up in a tree?" said Tom lightly, though his attempt at humour fell flat.

Harry glared at him. "Be serious. I don't want to spend a moment more than I have to in this accursed place, snakes or not."

"It's only a night, Harry," Tom said unconcernedly, "Besides, it's not as though we're in a rush to be anywhere else."

"Tom…"

Ignoring Harry, Tom turned to Yellow Eyes, gesturing with a wave of his hand. "_Lead the way_."

Without a word, she slid through the bushes to their right. Snapping, coiling sounds echoed as snakes rushed to join her, eager to lead the boys to their dwelling. Tom followed calmly, his movements measured.

Harry lingered by the tree, confusion and worry warring within him. Some of the other snakes stopped when he didn't move, waiting for him. Harry watched as Tom walked off into the darkness of the unknown forest with his own following of serpents. The rain trickled down his face as he breathed.

Sun Scales and Grey Scales waited with him.

"_Come, Speaker_," Sun Scales hissed, her tone gentle, "_Let us show you our warm space._"

"_Do you all live together?_" He asked, walking forward towards where Tom had been led. The other snakes kept pace with him, reminded Harry oddly of a sort of guard.

"_In winter, yes, we coil together. As you and the other Speaker must, yes?_"

"_Yes_," Harry whispered softly.

Sun Scales continued unheeded. "_But in summer, we go our own ways, until we must meet again when the snows return_."

The comment made Harry feel strange. Shaking his head, he turned to Grey Scales.

"_Do you have a leader, or are you all one_?"

"_Speaker, even when we are all one_," Grey Scales said solemnly, "_there is always a leader_."

Harry frowned. "_And is Tom my leader_?"

"_I cannot say. It depends on whose strength proves greater_."

"_But what kind of strength_?" Harry asked lowly to himself, doubt springing through his mind like weeds.

Neither snake replied, and for a moment the forest was filled only with the sound of Harry's footsteps, the crackling of the grass as the snakes slid over it, and the damnably constant plunking of the rain.

"_Is Yellow Eyes the leader, then_?" He finally asked, thinking of how she had been the first to approach them.

"_Yes_," Both snakes replied.

_Only fitting_, Harry thought ironically, _the lead snake for the lead Speaker_. But these ideas could soon turn bitter, so Harry shoved them away. He didn't want to be angry with Tom, especially over something Tom couldn't control.

"_What is your name, Speaker_?" Sun scales asked curiously_._

This was obviously an impertinent question, as the other snakes hissed angrily at her, one of them even trying to take a snap at her before she dodged out of range. Harry smiled, sensing a growing fondness for the young snake swell within him.

"_Hadrian_," He replied to her. "_The other Speaker is Thomason_."

Despite the initial antagonism, Harry saw to his amusement that this piece of information excited the other snakes. Their movements became increasingly rapid, and more of them began speaking to Harry directly.

"_We are honoured, Speaker, to hold your truth_," An auburn toned snake replied, twisting to be next to Harry's side.

A brown scaled female agreed. "_I will protect you and it to the death, small Speaker_."

A cacophony of hisses responded, all pledging loyalty and service, each statement grander than the last. Harry wondered if there was a certain value with names, and if he had broken some unspoken rule. _Well, too late now_, he thought.

The grove he was led to was free of the tangled undergrowth that characterised the rest of the forest. It was small, but filtered into a large rock formation that seemed at odds with the rest of the area. Harry glimpsed numerous, thin yellow snakes slipping down into the cave.

"_Is the rest of the cave underground_?" The thought made him anxious.

"_Yes, Speaker_," Grey Scales said. "_Worry not, it will be spacious enough for you_."

Harry's mind conjured up the horrible notion of being suffocated in a cramped space under the weight of a hundred snakes. He winced, but decided to trust Grey Scales' judgment. Besides, Tom was likely already inside.

Following the snakes' lead, Harry warily stepped onto the first rock plinth, and then continued to descend along with the cave as it expanded deeper into the ground. The sunlight faded out, leaving an impenetrable darkness. His eyes no use, Harry used his hands to guide him onward, scratching them on the jagged walls. He could hear only the hisses of the snakes around him.

The cave seemed to go on forever, the path before and behind him invisible, and so it was with relief that Harry rested when Grey Scales finally called, "_Stop, Speaker_."

"_What now_?" He asked, his breathing slightly laboured.

"_Down the hole. It drops to the main nest_."

Harry's eyes widened, looking blindly in the darkness for such a hole, edging closer to the wall as he did so. The thought of accidentally falling to what could be his death caused his heart to beat faster. How far would he drop in the darkness that surrounded him? Would he even know when the end came? And a more horrible thought: had Tom already plunged to his death, with Harry unknowing?

"_Is it safe? I'm not a snake_," He queried instead.

Sun Scales replied happily, "_It should be, Speaker_."

Not entirely filled with confidence at this response, Harry nevertheless knelt and began brushing his palms lightly against the uneven ground, searching for the hole. A jolt of fear sparked in him when his hands reached an empty space in the earth. He fumbled, clutching at the edges of the hole; it was wider than he expected.

He simply breathed for a few moments, trying to marshal his courage. Then, with an impulsive move, Harry slipped his lower body into the gaping hole, and before he could think to stop himself, he let go.

Air rushed up to meet him, tugging roughly at his clothes and hair. The sound of it squealing pierced his ears in the otherwise silence. Like the cave path, the drop seemed to go on and on, until Harry was unsure of the barest details of space and time. His stomach flipped, unsettled by the new sensations. A feeling of complete weightlessness assaulted him.

Oddly, Harry found it rather strangely exhilarating.

Eventually, the hole seemed to curve, lightly angling his body with it, until Harry was almost flat by the end. The faintest trace of light loomed beyond him, and Harry closed his eyes quickly, his eyes tearing up from the sudden exposure after so much utter darkness.

The hole, which apparently was really more of a tunnel, Harry discovered, opened out into a large cavern, wider and taller than any space Harry had ever seen. Stalactites hung down from above, though the ceiling was so high it was obscured by darkness, so the rock formations were left to float from what seemed to be dead air. Sharp crystals embedded in every surface glittered with reflected light.

Harry dropped freely, landing in a small lake beneath, the water so cold it burned. He struggled to the surface, his teeth chattering, his small body shaking. Splashes of water drew his attention, and he saw the other snakes, noticing Sun Scales' bright colour even beneath the water. He supposed they must have followed him down the tunnel.

He swam to the rocky bank, clambering up and rolling onto his back. He shivered in his wet clothes, his breath rapid and somewhat choked.

"_Come, Speaker_," An unrecognisable voice hissed in his ear. Turning, Harry saw a flash of red as it slithered away from him. Exhausted, Harry clumsily got to his feet, stumbling after the snake.

Now that he could see in more detail, he sighted the great red burning fires spaced out around the cavern. Flickering amber sparks flung themselves away from the flaming masses, dotting the ground with small bursts of light. Looking over, Harry saw a reflection of the flames in the crystals molded into the rocks. They were amplifying the light source, refracting the beams, and in doing so, providing light to the vast space.

Harry frowned; it seemed too cleverly done to be natural. _And those fires…_

His entourage of snakes had caught up with him now, and without a single hiss, they followed him as he followed the red snake. Harry fought the bizarre desire to laugh, imagining what an onlooker would think if they happened to chance upon the strange sight.

He found Tom curled up with the other snakes, speaking quietly but intently to them, as they listened, absorbed. In the brief times when one of them responded, their tones struck Harry as disturbingly reverent.

"_What are you doing_?"

Tom's head snapped up, his face closing as he spotted Harry. He hushed the other snakes, keeping his eyes on Harry.

"Nothing of great importance," Tom said slowly, speaking with a falsely light tone.

Harry switched back to his native tongue also, not realizing he had been speaking in the snake-language. "Then it's no problem if you tell me, then."

"I was just recounting our travels with them."

"Ours or yours?" Harry asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. He could hardly believe he'd ever worried about Tom.

"Mine," Tom replied, looking cagey.

"Beyond what I know?"

"They needed to be informed if we are to stay with them."

"'Stay with them'?" Harry repeated. "You make it sound as if this is long term. You said it was only for the night."

"I see no need to leave immediately."

"Tom—" Harry started, his temper building. He was so sick of Tom commanding everything they did, of going back on his word to Harry over and over again. He bit his lip, his teeth breaking the surface, blood filling his mouth.

"Unless you have a better plan?"

This response infuriated Harry to greater heights.

"FORGET THE PLAN!" He shouted suddenly. "Can you ever think of anything else? You promised, Tom, you promised!"

Tom appeared unconcerned. "I never gave my word."

"You implied it!"

"Please, Harry, don't make a scene."

Harry turned away, hurt and embarrassment warring within him. He didn't want to look at Tom, and some part of him wondered if he ever would again.

"What did you tell them that I don't know?" Harry stared determinedly at the rock wall, at the stalagmites that rose oddly from the cracked earth, at the great fire that raged before him.

"I don't see how that's your concern."

"So they can know, but I can't?" Harry lashed out furiously.

"This information will be useful to them, but to you… I see no point."

Tom had once again robbed Harry of words. Without volition, Harry glanced behind him, catching Tom's eyes as they peered intensely at him. A towering wave of rage flooded him at the sight of Yellow Eyes curled closely around Tom's neck, her eyes shining.

He turned back to the flames.

"Fine," Harry said bitterly. "Fine, Tom."

Not knowing where he was going, Harry strode off in a random direction, desiring only to be away from Tom. Tom, who at times seemed to be his greatest friend, and at others, his dearest foe.

Harry eventually settled on a peaked rock, which cropped out of the ground at an angle. He lay on his side for a time, lost in thought. A slither of movement caught his eyes, and he tensed.

But it was only Sun Scales and Grey Scales. They twined over his body, twisting until they surrounded him; Sun Scales gently laid her head on his shoulder. Their presence comforted Harry, akin to a soothing balm placed on a wound that had only just begun to truly fester.

"_How do the fires keep burning_?" Harry finally spoke.

"_They never stop, Speaker_," Grey Scales replied calmly. "_It is Gubraithian fire_."

At Harry's confused look, Sun Scales clarified, "_Everlasting fire, Speaker_."

"'_Everlasting fire'? But how_?"

"_Magic_."

"_But you're not magical_," Harry said hesitantly, "_Or are you_?"

"_No, Speaker_," said Grey Scales. "_A wizard, long ago, lived here_."

"_Like the ones we talked about before_?"

"_Yes, but this one was much darker and much more powerful. He created the Gubraithian fire so that he could continue his experiments down here forevermore_."

"_Were you alive there, then_?" asked Harry, puzzled his Grey Scales accurate knowledge, if the wizard had lived so long ago. He wasn't even sure how long snakes lived anyway. Perhaps Grey Scales' reference to 'long ago' only meant long ago for a snake.

"_No, Speaker_._ This wizard lived long before my time. My ancestors also lived in this cave long ago, and they were with him in his time. Still, we can all feel the shadows of the wizard's presence_."

Harry frowned, pondering on Grey Scales' first statement. "_They were with him, your ancestors? Was he a snake-Speaker too_?"

"_No. None here now or in the past have met a Speaker before_."

"_And now we have found two_," Sun Scales hissed jubilantly.

Harry shoved the thought of the other Speaker here away, thinking on what Grey Scales had told him. There was one thing, above all, that confused him.

"_You said he was 'dark'_," Harry shifted to look at Grey Scales, who was curled up above where Harry's head lay. "_What does that mean_?"

"_There are different sides to magic, small Speaker. Some magic is violent, intended to harm the victim. Those who practice these arts are named so dark wizards and witches_."

Harry was horrified. "_Why would they want to use magic to hurt people_?"

"_Because they are alive and human, and like all things, possess a desire for power that is not easily quenched. Beware this path, young Hadrian: the dark powers consume, and only sadness and regret lie in its wake_."

A shiver of unease prickled the back of Harry's neck, countered by the warmth that welled within from Grey Scales' use of his name. Silence spread between the three of them, soothing and restful as Harry tried to digest Grey Scales' words. As he mentally retraced the conversation, a sudden thought struck his mind like lightning.

"_Did you say you felt the wizard's presence still_?" asked Harry incredulously.

"_Yes_," Sun Scales and Grey Scales replied in unison.

"_How_?" Harry flipped onto his stomach, Sun Scales sliding from her position on his shoulder. She coiled next to Grey Scales in front of Harry, their heads on level with his. Looking at them, he only now noticed how the reflections of the fires seemed to dance in their luminous eyes.

"_Magic leaves traces, Speaker, especially dark magic. When the wizard died here in these caves, his presence – and its trace – lingered on_," Sun Scales said softly, her tone uneasy.

"_He died here_?"

"_Yes, in a tomb he built for himself."_

Harry's thoughts were on fire. "_Can you take me to it_?"

"_If you are sure that is wise, Speaker_," said Grey Scales. Sun Scales uncoiled and then recoiled herself anxiously.

"_Speaker_," She pleaded, "_It is a dark place, not for one like you_."

Harry felt slightly guilty that he was causing her fear, but determination strengthened his resolve. Instinct told him he had to see whatever lay in that cave, whether it threatened his life or not.

"_I must see it_," Harry commanded, thinking of Tom briefly before he focused on his two faithful companions.

The two snakes hesitated, staring at Harry's face, before they quickly slithered down the rock and continued on in a direction Harry hadn't gone yet. He trailed after them, trying to keep up as he climbed over bulky rocks and leapt over the small streams that weaved throughout the rocky terrain, connecting all the larger lakes.

From a distance, only a slight crack in the wall signified a rift in the earth. As they got closer, however, Harry discovered that the crack was not slight at all and in fact towered hundreds of feet above them. It was wide enough to line ten horses side by side.

They passed through into the darker depths of the cave, which Harry saw was more structured than the great cavern. Grey metal panels lined the inner walls, decorated with scenes of fighting men, crying women, dying cattle, and raging fires. They were accurate in detail and the more gruesome for it. Harry caught sight of one with a strange burning bird, with plumed feathers that streaked fiery flames.

"_Is there any beast I should fear in here_?" Harry asked lowly to Grey Scales, the scenes deeply unsettling him.

"_Only the beast in your soul_."

Saying no more, Grey Scales slid ahead beside Sun Scales, who emitted no hisses of comfort, no words to calm his fears. Grimacing, Harry trekked after them, warily watching the walls as the scenes grew increasingly bloodthirsty. Eventually, he had to look away, lest he give into terror before he reached his goal.

Small torches were spaced evenly along the bottom edges of the walls, providing a row of lights to lead them to where the wizard's body lay in rest. _Or not, as the case may be_, Harry thought.

When he sighted the looming archway, Harry sped up, but stopped when he was close enough to see the inscriptions. He could tell the letters formed some sort of words (he had seen the same ones before when he was with his tribe), but he couldn't read them.

"_What does that say_?" He asked the snakes inaudibly.

Sun Scales surveyed him. "_It is in your other tongue. We snakes know not what it says_."

Harry nodded silently, feeling somewhat inadequate, and continued on under the archway, which led into a four-sided chamber. Stone shelves filled with tomes and scrolls lined these walls, which were thankfully absent of any artwork. A sense of decay lingered in the air, of a presence untouched, a power undiscovered. Wooden trunks were left haphazardly, some open, some tipped over with their treasures within spilling out onto the dusty floor.

A stony tomb retained pride of place in the centre of the room, mounted on layered platforms. Skillful artwork was carved into the steps leading up, but Harry didn't chance a glance, instead focusing on the tomb itself. Even stranger writings than the one the archway adorned the burial container, ones Harry had never seen before, but that like the rest of the room, seemed to possess its own share of power.

Harry breathed in the musty air, waiting for a sign. When none was forthcoming, he turned back to the snakes, which had remained at the bottom of the steps.

"_What do I do_?"

"_What you seek lies within, Speaker_," hissed Grey Scales gently.

"_I don't even know what I seek_," Harry uttered despairingly, unsolvable questions racing through his wearied mind.

"_You seek the power to change what you believe is wrong, the power to make light what is dark. In this, you provide hope for the weak_."

"_You think I can do that_?" Harry asked, filled with wonder.

"_I think you are capable of it, if you remain true. I see great things within you, and the other Speaker also_."

Harry frowned in worry. "_He is more powerful than I am, I think_."

"_Measure of magical ability is not the testament of true power_."

Thoughts suddenly rushed through his mind, of his mother singing him to sleep, of the gleam of acceptance in his tribe leader's eyes as he watched Harry practice with a wooden sword, of Grey Scales' soothing words and advice, of Sun Scales' happy nature… and of Tom, the glint of amusement when he and Harry exchanged witty retorts, the relaxed, peaceful look – so rare – on his face when he and Harry simply sat in silence, watching the world pass them by.

"_Go on, Hadrian_," Sun Scales encouraged gently.

Breathing in deeply, Harry pressed his hands against the side of the top tomb covering and pushed. His small arms didn't contain much brute force, but Harry persistently shoved the stone slab until the opening was halfway uncovered. Harry bravely stared down, keeping his face blank.

Only a skeleton remained of the dark wizard who had once lived and died in this chamber, the clothes he had been buried in withered with him until only shredded pieces of lint endured. Surprisingly, Harry found it easier to look at than he had initially expected; he could see that the man had once been human, but he was so removed from life that Harry didn't feel as disturbed as he'd thought he would. Perhaps it was because he had never seen the man alive that Harry couldn't truly comprehend what the world had lost when he became gone from it.

Only one thing persisted in its pristine condition, unchanged by time. A thin stick composed of knotted, ruby-red wood was clutched in the skeleton's right hand. His breath short, Harry reached down with his own right hand, guided by an instinct he couldn't explain.

He pulled the stick from the dead man's grip, bringing it up out of the tomb entirely. Harry clasped the stick tighter with his fingers, a hot spark of warmth rushing through his hand.

* * *

ANII: For those who are curious, Gubraithian fire was mentioned in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Hagrid used it to try to impress the first Gurg.


	3. An Awakening

I know, I know. I've been awful and all of you have been amazing. Words can't really express how sorry I am for leaving you all hanging for nearly eight months. I apologise, profusely. Needless to say, real life intervened and took the reins for a while. For everyone who reviewed, favourited, or alerted, this is for you. You have no idea how much those drove me to finish this (and it's exam week at my uni, so you can probably guess I had limited time as it is). Thank you all so much. I hope this chapter can assuage your anger at me for a while. I can't promise an exact time frame of when the next chapter will be up, but I can promise that it will not take eight months this time. Solemn oath.

As I've made clear before, I do have the rest of this story planned out. It may take awhile (as I'm sure real life has not seen the last of me yet) but I will continue to update this story until it is complete.

As always, I appreciate feedback and would really like to know what you all think! This chapter is where more things get rolling, so hopefully you'll like it.

Note: I combined chapters one and two, so this is chapter three, though technically it was supposed to be chapter four...

Chapter III: An Awakening

Rain lashed against the shoddy glass windows, slipping through the cracks and edges where the panes had been roughly shoved into place. Dark clouds swamped the night sky, extending their tendrils like greedy fingers until the whole of the heavens was obscured by inky blackness. It seemed to the eye that whatever lay beyond the windows was dangerous, sinister in its unknown quality.

Inside the tavern, however, was a different story.

The glow of the candles birthed a sense of ambiance, both illuminating and shadowing the room's occupants. The crowd of men near the front – who'd been rowdy a hour or so ago but had since fallen into sombre silence – were clear under the precarious candles that hung above them, the roughness of their clothes and bloodiness of their hands marking them as farm hands, all clear in the revealing light. Nursing their pints gingerly now, they spoke in hesitant whispers, their dirt-streaked faces containing the faintest traces of hopelessness.

_It's all around then_, thought the cloaked man, observing his drinking companions from the corner of the room. It was a spot he'd chosen much earlier in the evening, when the sun was just beginning to dip beyond the northern mountains. It was spaced farther away from the other candles that dotted around the place, affording him a small semblance of privacy as he waited. Still, even in his comparatively prime position, his patience was wearing thin.

_Where is that man?_

He sighed; it was just like his companion to care nothing for the hour, despite the dangers that lingered in the dark, even for ones such as them. A flash of his friend's likely response to that statement caused the man to purse his lips in amusement; no doubt it would be something along the lines of how it was the danger of it all that made it exciting. _Fool_, he thought fondly.

The candles flickered and died as time dragged on, the young but plumb tavern maid making her rounds around the room to replace them, her face harried. The man felt sympathy for the poor girl; surely wax in this day and age was rare, and thus, far more expensive than the normal tavern-running family could comfortably afford. But as it was, patrons were frequenting these havens of refuge more and more, and staying longer into the night for it too, so strong was the potency of comfort that ale offered. The man thought that this, also, was a mark of the age, when a house away from home was the only place to escape the world and all its miseries. _Even these muggles sense it,_ he thought gloomily,_ the growing feeling of doom that seems to pervade us all…_

He'd had his tankard re-filled twice before his companion finally showed his face. The man said nothing as his friend joined him, motioning with a hand to the tavern maid. She quickly rushed over, placing a glass on the table and filling it with amber liquid, the gold-coloured flecks within reflecting the now-dim light of the candles. She gave the new arrival once sweep over with her eyes, blushed, and then hastily stumbled back behind the bar.

"So young," the man commented sadly, his eyes on the girl as she meandered through her duties. _So full of dreams and hopes too, no doubt._

"Aren't we all?" his friend replied, following his gaze. "All of us are too young for some things."

The man turned back to his friend, eyebrows raised. "And here I was thinking nothing scared you. How shocking."

The red-headed man frowned at him. "Is this a time to joke?"

"You seem to think every time is a time to joke."

His friend sighed in exasperation. "That was different. Dangerous, still, yes… but this is a wholly unlike kind of danger," he shuddered, pounding his heart with one hand. "I feel it in my chest, it's…"

"Cold," the man finished quietly.

His friend nodded. Leaning over the rough-hewn table – his pint of ale forgotten – he asked the question the man had been dreading all night.

"Do you know what it is?"

The man deliberated answering. On one hand, the answer would reveal a deep weakness, and however much he loved his childhood friend, the ghosts of pains past begged him to reconsider, to delay… but was he that boy anymore, the one who would choose his own safety over others? He liked to think not, that time had changed him, but still the doubts lingered, feeding on him as parasites feed off their host.

"For god's sake, man, answer me," his friend commanded, his voice steely and that familiar glint of fire present in his blue eyes.

"I thought you didn't worship muggle gods, not anymore."

The fire grew fiercer. "I doubt Merlin would be able to help us here, either. Gods, magical or muggle, won't be of any use to us, not now, but I _need_ you to tell me what you know," his friend said, his voice hard but his eyes pleading.

They softened as they stared at him. "Please," his friend whispered gently.

The man stared straight at him, ignoring the outside world for the moment. He opened his mouth, faltered, but then started again. For this one moment in time, he decided, he needed the courage his friend had tried for so long to inspire in him. "I don't know much," he said finally, his voice low. "Usually I can sense these things – as you know by now – but something about this… whatever this is, it's not like anything I've ever sensed before."

His friend stared at him in concern. "What does it feel like?"

"Well, like you said, cold, but that's only on the fringes. The deeper I reach into it, the more it _burns_, but it's a chilling fire, a frozen fire that stills your heart but you know you must be alive, because your skin is still on fire…"

His friend shuddered, his brows tensed with deep unhappiness. He reached out to him, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. The man breathed for a moment, drawing his thoughts away from those sinister moments.

"I'm sorry," his friend said, "If I could do this instead—"

"But you can't," the man interrupted. "It's one of the joys of my kind."

"Joys," the red-headed man repeated bitterly, glaring down as his un-sipped glass.

The man sighed. "It doesn't do to dwell on this now. We have greater things to worry about."

"If only we had more of an idea of what we're facing," his friend muttered. "Is it a magical plague? A war?"

"Well, there's only one thing for sure."

"What's that?"

The man pushed back his cloaked hood, staring out beyond the window closest to the table he shared with his friend Godric Gryffindor. "Whatever it is that's coming… it's going to change everything," said Salazar Slytherin.

* * *

Harry slept that night with his stick curled protectively against his chest.

When he awoke, he spent time simply staring at it, examining all its details, searching out all its minute flaws. The wood was worn in some places from use but even naturally the wood was not carved evenly. It had ridges that ran along the sides, and the base was broader, as though to be used as a handle. The width decreased as the stick's length increased, until the tip of it was as thin as his smallest fingertip.

He questioned Grey Scales and Sun Scales – who had stayed with him during the night – about the stick's origin, his voice hushed so as not to echo in the vast cavern.

"_It is called a wand, Speaker_," Sun Scales replied, much more cheerful now that she was back in her safe haven. He tickled her sides, finding her scales warm and smooth.

"_A wand_?"

"_Yes, that is what the humans call it. They use it to create magic, of which we told you before_."

Harry thought back to the conversation in the forest. "_Using will_?"

"_Exactly so, young Speaker_."

So Harry traversed the rocky cavern grounds to the farthest area away from the light-emitting fires. A glassy lake spread out before him, with a veritable half-wall of rocks behind him shielding him from view. With Sun Scales' childlike enthusiasm and Grey Scales' patient encouragement, Harry began to practice.

Grey Scales had once seen a wizards duel, as he told Harry, and explained some of the movements and words he remembered, though he warned that his memory was by no means perfect. It made Harry wonder how old Grey Scales really was.

"'_Swish and flick'_?" Harry repeated, bewildered.

"_That is what I said, Speaker. Move the wand in this manner_."

Harry wasn't entirely sure he even knew what that movement was supposed to look like, but with a sigh, flourished the wand before ending with a decided jab.

"_Flick, Hadrian_."

"Flick," Harry uttered lowly. "Right."

He tried again, this time not being so violent at the end, but instead letting the wand flow. Before Grey Scales had time to respond, Harry repeated the movement, closing his eyes and slowly letting the wand itself guide him. It seemed oddly… alive.

"_Now for the words…_"

The sound shocked Harry out of his concentration, making him stumble on the rocks. Once he righted himself, he turned to Grey Scales expectantly.

"_Try…lumos_."

"_Lumos_?"

"_I believe it a word for light, but in a human language different from yours. Say it now._"

"_Lumos—_"

Grey Scales interrupted quickly. "_In your own language_."

"Oh," said Harry. "Lumos, lumos, lumos, lumos…"

"_Now use the movement_," Grey Scales commanded softly. Sun Scales hummed in excitement from where she lay perched on the rock outcropping.

Harry waved his wand in the practiced movement, and whispered, "Lumos."

Nothing happened.

"_Try saying them together, Speaker_," Sun Scales suggested.

Harry did so, but still the wand would not light. Glowering at it, he wondered if it was damaged from its long stay in the tomb.

"_Remember what we said, Speaker: power of will creates magic. You have to want the spell to succeed. Think of the details of the lake. The darkness obscures them, but if you had a light, you would be able to see them. Let want power your will to see the lake, Speaker, want to see the shine of the water…_"

Harry focused on the lake's black surface, imagining in his mind what it truly looked like, willing himself to _want_ to see it in the light…

"Lumos!" He ordered the wand, swishing and flicking it with determination. A bright burst of white light gleamed at the wand tip, illuminating the area as Harry gazed at it with awe.

"_Now say 'nox'."_

Listening to Grey Scale, Harry muttered, "Nox."

The light disappeared, leaving the wand tip as it had begun. Harry grinned, joy and pride soaring in his chest. He had performed magic, he had done it with his own will and power and the accomplishment of it all ceased all of Harry's doubts and worries for a single glorious moment.

Bursting with excitement, Harry whispered, "Lumos," intently. Over and over again, he lit and extinguished his wand tip, the action growing easier with repetition, until Harry could enact the spell with little concentrated thought.

The sharp voice whipped like a lash out at him. "What are you doing?"

Harry whirled around in shock, clutching the wand to him. Tom's eyes narrowed at they sighted it, a gleam appearing in them that made Harry step back.

"Where did you get that?"

Harry stared back blankly, panic rushing through him. He was afraid of Tom; he could admit that in this moment. But, Harry decided stubbornly, he would not give up the wand. Not to Tom, not to anyone. "From the cave," he replied simply.

Tom raised his eyebrows sardonically. "And it was just lying around, I presume?"

"Something like that."

Tom's eyes flashed, a swell of dark emotions brewing within that chilled Harry. He was grateful the great fires were far enough away that he couldn't properly see into them. That would have made him more afraid, Harry was sure.

His voice was smooth. "You know, Harry, I don't like it when you keep secrets from me."

Harry tempered down the burst of fury that rose in his chest. "Nor do I, but you didn't seem to care about that either."

"I have a right to know what you're doing."

"If that's true, then I have a right to know what happened to you before, but I doubt it's going to work out that way," Harry said darkly.

The shadows played eerily across Tom's face. "Perhaps whatever you're holding was meant for me."

Harry pressed the wand closer to his heart. "Why you and not me? I was the one that found it, not you. If either of us were _meant_ to have it, that makes it me."

"Don't be foolish," Tom snapped.

"I'm not," Harry replied hotly.

"Give it to me," ordered Tom, his voice cold as ice. There was none of the boy Harry knew and for a moment he ached inside, wondering if he _had_ been a fool to get caught up in Tom's games. _That doesn't matter now_, Harry reminded himself, pushing away his self-pity to a dark corner of his mind. All that mattered was the wand.

"No."

Tom cocked his head. "No?" he questioned ruthlessly, a tinge of mockery in his voice that made Harry want to run far away, to somewhere Tom would never find him, where he could just be alone with the wand and Grey Scales and Sun Scales. If they would go with him, that was… after all, the rest seemed very loyal to Tom, more to him than they were to Harry anyway…

"No," Harry repeated stubbornly, tensing his jaw.

Tom stared at him, his face expressionless. When he spoke, his voice was calm, "You might as well just give it to me, Harry. I'll take it from you anyway."

Glaring at him, Harry said, "What makes you think you'll be able to?"

Tom laughed coldly, a high-toned sound that was so far from Tom's usual laugh. It wormed fear down Harry's spine, but he did his best to keep his stare resolute; Tom would strike all the quicker if he sensed weakness.

"You think you can face me, Harry? Truly, you fancy yourself a match for me? Don't be ridiculous."

The words stung, the truth of what Tom had really thought of him along brought to light in the cruellest fashion. Still, Harry refused to give in now. If that was the way things stood, then Harry was on his own; he couldn't depend on Tom for protection any more, couldn't let Tom tear him down or surely the rest of the world would destroy him whole.

"I have the wand."

Tom's face twisted into an ugly expression. He eyed the wand hungrily. "I'll have it soon."

"You'll have to get it from me first."

"You forget, Harry," Tom's use of his name seemed sick now, "I can do magic without a wand. Surely whatever I can do without a wand is more than what you can do with one."

Tossing aside the slight, Harry did his best to remind himself of what Grey Scales had said the night before as he took the wand from its former master's tomb. _Magical ability is not the full measure of power_, Harry thought, trying to silence the voice that snidely asked what was, if not that.

"_Master, you misunderstand the nature of wands_," said Grey Scales, drawing both of the Parselmouths' gazes to him. He was coiled calmly by Harry's feet, his glassy eyes void of any discernible emotion.

"_What do you mean?_" Tom queried slowly, eyeing the old snake warily. It suddenly occurred to Harry that Yellow Eyes was not with him. Harry narrowed his eyes around the outskirts of the lake, trying to spot the snake that seemed to have taken such a shine to the boy before him.

"_Once a wand picks a new owner, it will be loyal only to that person_."

Tom's eyes sparkled with disappointment for a moment before the shield went up again, rendering it blank. "_And there's no way to change it?_"

Grey Scales was still. "_It is a bond unto death_."

When Tom glanced up at Harry speculatively, Harry felt a flash of true fear. If he'd been asked the week before, the day before even, he'd have refused to believe Tom would kill him for power. But now… everything seemed to have changed so suddenly and it made Harry furious that the world would take away the only thing he had left, would give him something dear and then turn it on him. It made Harry want to shout and fight, almost as much as it made him want to curl up and hide way, to nurse his grief as he tried to rearrange to a whole new life all over again.

But then Tom looked away and sighed. Harry held his breath, not daring to move and attract Tom's notice. The other dark-haired boy called out to the darkness, his voice a low string of hisses. Harry immediately saw the glimmer of scales as she moved, reflecting in the dim light. She must have been waiting there all the time, Harry realised, taking a step back involuntarily as Yellow Eyes slithered up Tom's body, settling around his neck, flicking her forked tongue lovingly against his skin. Harry frowned, resisting the urge to call Grey Scales and Sun Scales to him; he couldn't rely on them for protection, no matter what affection he had formed towards them over the past night. Harry didn't like the challenge he thought he saw in Yellow Eyes' slit pupils either.

"Then there's nothing we can do until I too can find a wand," said Tom quietly, pacing around the rocks, twitching his fingers. Harry said nothing, simply watching him.

Finally, Tom stopped in front of Harry, searching his face with the unearthing gaze the Harry so hated now. Without taking his eyes of Harry, Tom asked Grey Scales, "_How much of this magic did you hear, in the company of these wizards?"_

"_Not much, master, but enough._"

"_Enough for what?_" Tom replied, face troubled, apparently noting something in Grey Scales' response that bothered him.

"_Enough for him to learn to protect himself._"

Something lit behind Tom's eyes and he stared at Harry with greater interest. "_Yes_," he murmured, "_I suppose that would be useful_."

Harry bristled, annoyed at Tom in a way he had never been before. "Yes, I suppose it would be _useful_ if I learned how to not die, all without your help," he drawled sarcastically. "Because, you know, _I_ was the one to turn up in a river, half dead…"

Tom's eyes widened fractionally, before they narrowed to slits. "No," he said mockingly, "you were just the one that was nearly hunted down by your own people."

Harry stepped back instantly, staring at Tom with newfound anxiety.

"I never told you that…" Harry said lowly, keeping his eyes trained on Tom's form.

"It doesn't take much to guess, Harry," Tom snapped. "Why else would you be alone? I knew it the moment I saw you. Any fool would've been able to see it."

Harry's face twisted, thinking back on those horrible hours, a month or two ago now, though they still continued to haunt him. Not often, perhaps, but enough that Harry was never truly able to forget it. The memory of his mother's face, full of revulsion and loathing, her voice screeching as she screamed for his death, was burned into his memory. Harry shuddered, folding his arms so as to keep a hold of himself.

"Your skin was white – whiter than white – and it couldn't just have been from pulling me out of that river. Your clothes were half torn to pieces, like someone had tried to drag you somewhere, and you had this look in your eyes – I can recall it exactly—" Tom continued, heedless.

"Don't," Harry whispered brokenly, too caught up the memories that Tom's words elicited to care about how weak he must appear, how childish. Tom broke off, staring at him, a new emotion glittering in his eyes; Harry was too tired to care, though. He turned his back to Tom, stumbling over to the rock wall, slumping onto it, drawing his knees to his heaving chest. Shame plucked its strings in the pit of his stomach and he winced, rubbing his forehead with his hands, anything to erase those dreaded images…

He felt Tom sit beside him, the warmth of his close body causing Harry to shiver, realising now how cold he was.

"Harry…"

"Don't," Harry repeated, stronger now, his voice as firm as his resolve. Breathing in deeply, he tried to settle himself. He glanced through his dark tangle of hair at the boy next to him.

Tom met his gaze solemnly. "I'm sorry."

Harry nodded silently.

Frowning, Tom said, "I meant it. We'll learn what we can from these snakes, and then we'll be on our way, as you liked."

Though he nodded again to show his assent, he doubted Tom would leave behind _all_ of the snakes. That bothered Harry more than he cared to admit, especially to Tom, of all people.

Tom reached across Harry's knees, curling his hand around Harry's, the one – Harry realised with a sudden shock – that held the ruby-red wand. Instinctively, Harry recoiled, but Tom stopped him, holding onto his hand tightly. Looking up at him warily, Harry watched as Tom caught his gaze purposely, slowly prying Harry's stubborn fingers from the wand until the wooden stick fell to Harry's lap. The hand free now, Tom held it fully, his palm cool against Harry's own. Harry breathed out inaudibly.

"I'll help you," Tom whispered, his voice sweet, sending a rush of affection through Harry. Though he was certain Tom was not being entirely selfless, he couldn't wholly dampen the rejuvenated bond Harry felt with the other boy. Helpless against his own treacherous emotions, all Harry could reply was a low, "Okay."

* * *

"You're doing it wrong."

"I'm doing it fine," replied Harry, irritated.

Still, it was difficult to remain angry when the sunlight shone down on them for the first time in weeks. It slipped its rays through the gaps in the trees, the clearing the two were standing in lit up with the frail beams that were nevertheless so welcome. With the sunlight and the fresh air – so absent in the cave – Harry was feeling better than he had in what felt like a very long time.

Or he had been, anyway.

"I'm doing the movement like Grey Scales said. It's not my fault you want to re-invent ways to do things you've never even tried before."

Tom frowned at him. "Don't be petty, Harry. This is for both our benefits, don't forget."

"How could I?" muttered Harry darkly, staring up at the sapphire-lacquered sky. After all, what else could ruin a good day like Tom in a foul mood? Nothing, Harry decided moodily.

Sighing, Tom settled his hands on Harry's tense shoulders, making Harry uncomfortably aware of how much taller Tom was than him. Perhaps it wasn't much in reality – he'd noticed he'd gained some height in these past weeks as well – but it felt like it was. Harry shifted back slightly, avoiding Tom's gaze.

"Let's just start again," Tom suggested patiently, "slower this time."

"Yeah, alright," said Harry, raising the wand once again. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the words Grey Scales had recited to him earlier that morning. It was routine, now, to start every day with a new spell.

"Protego totalum."

A light flutter seemed to move through the air, but then it quickly dissipated.

"Again," Tom said softly, watching him keenly.

Harry gritted his teeth. "I _know_."

Focusing all his attention, Harry's mind sought for something to inspire him. Grey Scales' first lesson hadn't left his mind; he had to _want_ the spell to work and for that, he needed a purpose. Rolling the words around, Harry pondered their meaning. It had something to do with protection, Harry knew. He flicked through his more pleasant memories, searching out a time he had needed protection. Unbidden, the darker remembrances slunk in; filling his mind with things he's rather forget. Still…

"Protego totalum," he repeated, dredging up the feeling of helplessness he'd long known, the sharp spike of fear that roiled in his stomach as he'd hid from the others…

Not a weak flutter now, but a forceful upsurge of power that sprung around the clearing like an invisible shield. Harry lowered the wand, in awe as he stared around them, circling around as he inspected the shield closer. It was indiscernible, utterly impenetrable, but still Harry thought he could sense a slight haze, a blur that bespoke of a barrier between him and whatever lay outside the magical shield of his own creation.

When he finally looked back at Tom, he stilled. The other boy was staring at him intently, his eyes dark and glittering. For once, his face was open, his emotions bared for Harry to see, though he knew not what emotions they were.

"What?" said Harry quietly, strangely discomforted by Tom's directness.

Tom tilted his head, keeping his grey gaze on Harry.

"That… was well done, Harry," Tom said slowly, his voice barely above a murmur. His eyes were filled with… _pride_, Harry's thoughts whispered to him. It shocked Harry, but also allowed him to stare back at Tom resolutely. They met each other's gazes head on, neither wavering.

For the first time, Harry realised that he was a different boy from the one Tom had met months ago. That boy was weak and naïve, latching onto the first person he'd met, yearning for the protection and care he'd been denied his whole life. That boy was keen to go along with any adventures, as long as there was someone by his side. That boy was a fighter at his base, but had allowed his sorrows to overcome his strength of will. _No more_, Harry decided fiercely, _that boy is dead_.

Because Tom had made him realise the truth; that it was not only his life that had had its share of misery, but the whole world over. There was no point in running, and if it came to it, he would go where he would because he chose to, not because he'd been swayed by another's manipulations. He'd been lost for more than eleven years now, adrift in a sea of others making, but today that ended. Today, he became the master of his fate again.

Harry stared back into Tom's eyes, longing, but not for his affection. He didn't want Tom's friendship, like a child; he didn't want his protection, like a child; he didn't want his pride, like a child; he wanted his respect, like an equal.

"We'll start the next one tomorrow," he said firmly, not breaking their locked gazes.

Tom blinked.

"Are you sure?" he asked, strangely hesitant. Perhaps he was thrown off by Harry's sudden decisiveness. The thought pleased Harry immensely.

"Yes," he said simply, turning back towards the cave opening. The sight of it didn't frighten him in the slightest now, but neither did it feel like home to him. They would be leaving it soon, after all. Tom had promised and if he didn't come through on his oath this time, Harry swore he would go on alone.

Tom followed him back into the cave silently.

* * *

The great fires shed unnatural light on the two dark-haired youths, sitting as they were, surrounded by the hundreds of eager snakes. The smaller one was quiet, the other hissing lowly to the snakes closest to him.

Harry stroked Sun Scales' smooth scales ponderously, lost in thought. He'd been reciting back the different names and meaning of spells earlier, as he did every night in order to remember them all, but a strange moroseness had since struck him and he found himself unable to continue with such a tedious task.

Tom's hand accidentally brushed his as Tom made a grand gesture to the snakes. A tingle went through Harry at the small touch and when Tom glanced at him – concerned he'd upset him, no doubt –

Harry just smiled at him reassuringly. Tom stared at him a few seconds longer, and then returned his attention to his captive audience.

The restful hush continued for some time, Harry almost falling into slumber until suddenly the volume of the hisses heightened. Alarmed, Harry sat up fully, looking over to Tom. His face was twisted in confusion, his eyes fixed on some point out into the darkness of the cave that the light of the fires did not reach.

"_Masters! Must hear, you must_," called the loud hiss. The speaker eventually made his appearance, slipping between his brethren to rise up in front of Tom and Harry. He was long in length, but thin as a wound-bundle of sticks, his scales a lacklustre green. His eyes were a dull black. All in all, not the most interesting specimen Harry had ever seen, but he thought he knew better than to judge by appearance alone. He threw a quick glance at Yellow Eyes, in her ever-present position around Tom's neck, her unique eyes shimmering in the fires' glow.

Tom frowned beside him. "_What is so urgent?_"

_"Men, master. Men in the woods, master, men on the march_," this pronouncement was met with even louder hissing, panic overtaking the snakes. Fleeting glimpses of colour flashed against the light as the snakes coiled around each other viciously, some attacking each other in order to escape from their locked positions. Harry had never seen them act so wild in all the months he'd spent with them down in this dreary cave.

"_Stop!_" Harry called, their movements making him dizzy. He placed one hand firmly on the ground to settle himself.

The snakes slowed their twisting, turning their flat heads to stare unblinkingly at him. Harry met each one of their gazes as they challenged him until the frantic hisses quieted to murmurs. Then he turned to look at Tom, who nodded his head in approval. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I suppose we should go see these men, then," he said, peeking up at the cavern's unseen ceiling.

"Is that what you want?" Tom queried lowly.

"It wasn't your thought as well? I don't see what else we can do…"

Tom leant his chin on his clasped hands, balancing his elbows on his knees. He was in the perfect position for the fire to half illuminate and half shadow his face. Harry thought the contrast of light and dark made his straight nose look particularly striking…

"We've been absent from the world for too long," Tom spoke aloud, though his voice was muted. "It's passed on without us and here we are, ignorant as to why an army of men are walking into such a locally feared forest without the barest hint of regard…"

"And we meant so much to it in the first place?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes.

Tom glanced at him tiredly. "I thought you wanted to see it."

"I do, but not because I think it misses us. I just want to."

"It leads to the same place," Tom murmured.

Harry let his eyes wander around the cave, so vast that it would require hours to take in every nook and crevice, feeling an acute pang of nostalgia. "We're leaving then?"

"I think it's time, Harry."

Harry looked over at him, unable to give voice to his thoughts, at what a great wrench it would be to part from Grey Scales and Sun Scales, who had become his trusted companions, at how joyous he was to finally be leaving this dark pit of gloom, at how grateful he was that Tom was keeping his promise. That, above all, he could never speak aloud.

"I believe so too."

* * *

They parted ways with snakes the following morn, listening dutifully to their requests to come back for them all when they'd finished their venture. When he had a spare moment of privacy from the cacophony of hissed goodbyes that echoed around the cave, Harry found Grey Scales and Sun Scales.

"I will come back for you," Harry promised earnestly, his tone fiercer than usual as he tried to fight back the sharp grief that rose within him; whatever he said, he knew it could be months – years, even – before he saw the pair of them again. Under the watchful eyes of Tom, Harry spoke a few more quiet words and then moved over to Tom's side.

"Finished?"

"Yes," said Harry sadly.

Tom said nothing and, for that, Harry was grateful. They climbed up the cave side, crawled into the tunnels and heaved themselves up the thin shoots using the tree branches Harry had welded to the rock surfaces with the ruby-red wand. The long climb only served to remind Harry how glad he was to be seeing the end of it. The cave had brought him joy and sorrow both, peace and hardship, power and weakness. He had entered it a child under the oppressive force of fate and that fact caused him equal melancholy and disgust. To leave now almost seemed to be akin to cheating.

They found the path the soldiers had treaded the night before almost immediately, so close had the tracks been to the cave. Following the row upon row of footprints deeper into the forest than even they had travelled before, Tom and Harry hoped to be close enough to not lose track of the army. As Tom said, though, they didn't want to be so near that they entered the soldiers' vicinity; neither he nor Tom were strong enough to take on a whole army, wand or not.

So they wandered at a distance, ambling on in a careless manner that seemed, to Harry's mind, so at odds with all their other travelling experiences. He daren't complain, though, and break the calm silence that had descended over him and Tom.

Soon enough, as the weeks passed, one forest rolled into another, this one brighter and sunnier, the birch trees pale white and topped with brilliant viridian leaves, their fragile branches dancing in the light breeze. Harry found the sunlight welcoming, the call of the birds charming, after more than half a year spent in darkness with only the slither of reptiles for comfort. As soon as the thought had crossed his mind, though, Harry felt guilty, recalling his two faithful serpents.

One afternoon, when Tom and Harry had halted their trek to eat some berries on the bank of a small lake, Harry broached the subject that had been bothering him for days.

"We don't have a plan, do we?" Harry said softly, continuing when Tom gave him a strange glance, "for after these soldiers get wherever they're going, I mean."

Tom was quiet a moment. "I rather thought we'd decide that when we found out _why_ they were going where they were."

"And if it's just some petty battle between lords?"

"A single lord doesn't have that many soldiers, Harry."

Harry peered over at him from where he lay beside him, his arms raised above his head to shield off the sun's rays. "And how do you know that?"

Tom rolled his eyes. "Never you mind."

Sighing, Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position. He tugged off his worn shoes, sparing a longing glance at the shimmering surface of the lake, the white light, imbedded with sparkles, rippling as the gentle waves swelled with the wind. _Well_, Harry thought suddenly, _why not?_ After all, it shouldn't matter that Tom was there.

It shouldn't matter at all.

Harry stood up, crossing his arms to lift up the hem of his woollen jumper.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked incredulously, sitting up abruptly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm going for a swim."

Tom parted his lips, staring at Harry in shock. It wasn't unwarranted; Harry had refused to bathe in front of Tom ever since they'd met, an odd nervous feeling fluttering in his stomach whenever the topic came up. Still, that was then and this was now and Harry wanted to swim, Tom present or not.

"Good idea."

Harry's eyes widened as he turned back to Tom, watching as the other boy rose to his feet, kicking off his shoes as Harry had done before pulling off his jumper and letting it fall to the ground. Like Harry, he wore a thin shirt underneath, which perhaps had once been white but had since been worn into a mottled grey.

Averting his eyes quickly, Harry fumbled with his own jumper, unsure if he wanted to go into the lake at all now. Perhaps he could plead he was tired? He'd leave Tom to bathe alone…

"Let me help you with that," Tom's voice was suddenly in his ear. Harry jerked away, his fingers slipping from his clothes. Then Tom was in front of him and it was Tom's fingers on his jumper, lifting it over Harry's head. Harry stared up at his face, speechless.

The odd feeling swelled in his stomach again, his heart racing for reasons unknown. And perhaps that was the problem with it all. Not the emotions Tom elicited in Harry that so bothered him, but the _why_ of the matter. What did it all mean? He had never felt the same because of some other, he was sure, but he wasn't certain why it was Tom that caused these strange sensations in the first place. Was it because they had been companions for so long now, or because they understood each other on a level Harry had never experienced with anyone else? It confused him, the looming question that seemed to characterise all of his interactions with Tom these days. But this was different, somehow, more intimate, though Harry didn't know why. It felt like he was drowning at sea, the tides taking him over with no ship in sight to drag him onboard and no shore for him to try to swim for. Instead, all he could do was fight against the unreasonable forces that struggled to pull him under.

Tom was working down the laces of Harry's jerkin, his fingers quick and nimble, slight points of pressure that touched too quickly for Harry to decide whether he liked it or not. Harry gasped quietly when the tips of Tom's fingers accidentally brushed over Harry's bare skin. Tom threw him a strange look, his face blank. Shivering, Harry tried not to focus on the drag of those fingers as the moved to untie the next lace.

Impulsively, his own hands reached out for the laces of Tom's shirt, untying one in the middle before his thoughts caught up with him. Harry and Tom both stilled, Tom's fingers pressed lightly against Harry as Harry's hovered over Tom. Harry glanced up uncertainly, unsure of himself as he slipped his questing fingers between the cloth folds of Tom's shirt and placed them above Tom's heart. He could feel the other boy's pulse as it bounded against his fingertips.

Tom breathed out slowly. He moved his hands down and continued to unlace the strings until all were loose. Catching Harry's eye, Tom stared at him as he pushed the shirt off of Harry's shoulders.

Harry suppressed the shiver this time, locking his gaze with Tom's determinedly as he finished untying Tom's shirt, trying to not let Tom see how his fingers trembled.

The two boys stared at one another, now only dressed in their trousers. Tom parted his lips, but hesitated and then brushed his hand lightly against Harry's cheekbone instead. Harry breathed out, resisting the urge to close his eyes in favour of drinking in more of Tom's half-dressed form.

Tom grasped Harry's wrist, pulling him down the bank and into the water without a word. Harry frowned as the water weighed down the heavy material of his trousers, but glancing over at Tom shyly, was relieved he had kept them on. Harry wasn't sure if he trusted Tom _that_ much, though he was certain he felt closer to Tom now than he had in the past near-year since they'd met. For once, the silence wasn't angry or relieving; the consequence of another fight or the awkwardness after they had made their peace. The silence just _was_. In that moment, they didn't need words.

* * *

They didn't speak of what had happened on the lake bank. It wasn't shame, exactly, that kept them from voicing the topic, but rather a mutual understanding that, for now, it didn't need to be discussed. They had time, and perhaps with it, Harry hoped, things would be clearer. As it was, he was well enough satisfied with the knowledge that whatever was happening to him was also happening to Tom. For some reason, that relieved an unknown fear he'd harboured inside him for longer than he'd been aware.

The days passed quickly, though the light-time hours became increasingly longer as summer reached its full-swing. The army continued its route south, twisting to the west as they neared the sea. Harry and Tom followed them on, but even Tom's enthusiasm had dampened by then, the ceaseless days of walking leaving them both bone-weary.

Harry wasn't sure whose fault it was, in the end. He'd surrendered any care of where the army ended up long ago. Mostly, he felt he'd just been stumbling along after Tom. It was only now that he realised Tom might have had the same idea.

"I thought you were watching them!" Tom snapped, pacing in circles. Harry watched him from where he'd slumped onto a fallen log, wondering absently how Tom managed to stay on his feet after spending all day on them without pause.

"And I thought you were," replied Harry calmly, resisting the urge to smile at the irony.

Tom tossed him an annoyed look, twitching his fingers in a pattern that Harry recognised now was a sign of Tom's anxiety. Harry sighed, rising from his log regretfully, before he started walking beyond the shade of trees, the same ones they'd wandered out of when they realised they had somehow lost sight of a few hundred men.

"Where are you going?" Tom's asked waspishly as he followed after Harry.

"There's a village up ahead, I'm sure I saw it earlier when we were higher up. I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for some proper food. All these months without being able to light a fire…"

"You know why we couldn't," Tom's voice replied, irritated.

"I know, but now we don't have to worry about that," Harry looked over his shoulder at his friend. "Come on, Tom, doesn't it sound nice? A soft bed – indoors, I might add – hot food—"

"Yes, alright," said Tom quickly, catching up to Harry so they could walk beside each other.

The village was obviously farther than he'd thought, though, so it was with great relief when the pair sighted the iron-wrought gates a few hours later. The gates were attached to a low stone wall that extended around the village. It was quaint, Harry thought, with its houses snuggled tight together – grey stone with wood beams and nicely thatched roofs – and what looked like a tavern in the centre of it all. Harry moved faster the closer they got, dragging Tom along by the arm when he felt the other boy going too slow.

Eventually, they came to the gate. It was finely done, the iron seeming black and new, an addition to the already old features that surrounded it. It towered above them, but still Harry could see that someone had hung a wooden plank across the top of the gate. On the plank were carved words, the same Harry had seen before in his tribe and also in the wizard's tomb in the cave. He clutched tight at his wand, where it was hidden up his sleeve.

"I wonder what it says," Harry said wistfully.

Tom raised his eyebrows at him. "Can't you read it?"

"No," replied Harry, shocked. "Can you?"

"Of course," scoffed Tom.

Harry frowned at him. "Fine, then," he said in annoyance, pointing up to the plank. "What does it say?"

Tom peered up at the sign.

"The Hollow of Godric," he read.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

The time gaps might be a bit confusing, I realise, so here is a really simple timeline:

Harry and Tom meet (late summer, September 914) (H: 11, T: 11)

Arrive at cave (winter, November 914)

Leave cave (early summer, June 915) (H: 11, T: 12)

Arrive at Godric's Hollow (late summer, August 915) (H: 12, T: 12)

I hope that clears up any questions on that front. If not, feel free to PM me.

Happy holidays!


	4. Note

No, this isn't another chapter.

I've had a few remarks that some people couldn't access chapter 4. That's because it doesn't exist, not as the chapter scheme stands now. I rearranged the chapters after I put up the new one last night. What was previously two chapters, a Riverside Rendezvous and the Touring of Towns (chapter one and two, respectively) are now just one chapter. I feel that with those ones being shorter, it was better to just combine them. plus, I think it aids the flow.

That said, that means that what was previously chapter three (the Cave) is now chapter two and what was chapter four (an Awakening) is now chapter three. That's why the site wouldn't allow some of you to access it if you put this story on alert beforehand, because it would have sent you the link to chapter four of the story before I switched it up, which as I've just explained, is now voided.

I hope that clears up everything. I'll delete this message when I've heard back from the people who were having problems, as I know it's against ff rules. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

Thanks for reading!

Sun Blinded


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